


The Choices We Make

by angryplantbabe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, M/M, Sad gay cowboys and assassins being gay and sad, originally a birthday fic happy birthday val enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 00:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryplantbabe/pseuds/angryplantbabe
Summary: After Mccree discovers the past identity of Reaper, he has a lot to think about.





	

The winter air stung Jesse Mccree as he slung himself onto the roof. Really, he should’ve worn thicker clothing. Already he imagined the disappointment on Gabriel Reyes’ face if he–

_No._ Mccree drew his guns and flung them down next to him. No, Reyes was gone, gone and turned into… _that._ As if prompted by his thoughts, the bullet wound on his shoulder twinged. Probably he shouldn’t have been climbing roofs, but it had barely grazed him. Besides, Mercy had bandaged it well enough.     

“It is ridiculous, how easy it is to sneak up on you,” someone said, making him jump.     

“See, most bad guys don’t getchur special ninja training. Don’t gotta worry about that normally.” Retrieving a cigar and lighting it, Mccree grinned at Hanzo. “Now is that an arrow in yer pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?"     

All he got in response was an eye roll. "I do not understand how such a good shot could be such an annoyance." 

” _You’re_ sayin’ I’m a good shot?“     

"I saw you today. You did well.” Hanzo sat down. “For a cowboy."     

Mccree huffed out a laugh. "So why’re you here? Not for my dazzlin’ company, I assume."     

For a moment, there was only the sharp hiss of the wind. Then, slowly, Hanzo asked, "Who was that man who shot you?”

“Calls himself Reaper.” Mccree snorted. “Didja see that uniform? I know black is slimmin’ and all, but–”

“No,” Hanzo interrupted. “Who _was_  he?”

In Mccree’s pocket was a flash grenade. Holding it in his hands and staring at the tiny Overwatch logo, he swallowed. “Gabriel Reyes."     

"Ah. He led Blackwatch, did he not?"     

Mccree nodded, glancing at Hanzo. His face held no trace of its usual aloofness; the soft lines of his face made him more human, more attainable. Thus, Mccree said, "He gave me everything and yet…I couldn’t save him. And now–” he shook his head and holstered his guns.     

“There was nothing to be done; it was not your fault. You did not make him what he is.”      

Hanzo’s voice was tight. Mccree stared, shocked, at his blank, downcast eyes.

“I– I guess yer right.” Mccree took the cigar from his mouth. “Listen, what happened with yer broth–"     

"Don’t,” Hanzo snapped. “You know nothing of what happened. It was my fault, and now I must bear that burden."     

Mccree had never seen this awful, wrenching guilt before; certainly he’d never seen it on Hanzo. How could one person hold his head so high in battle and yet turn so hollow the next moment? Gently, he said, "That was ten years ago. You made one mistake, so what? Everyone makes mistakes. You ain’t human otherwise."    

 "Killing my brother was not just a mistake. It was my duty.” Before Mccree could respond, Hanzo continued. “I would do it again, if I were in the same place. If my elders told me I had to, I would.” His words were bitter, quiet, as if he were afraid the wind would carry his voice if he spoke too loudly. “And he still thinks I’m worthy of redemption.”

He braced his hands against the lip of the roof as if to get up, but Mccree placed a hand atop of his.

"Before Blackwatch,” he began. “I was part of a gang. Deadlock gang. Heard of em?” When Hanzo shook his head, frustrated, Mccree bulled on. “We were out in the west. Did illegal stuff. Weapons trade, murder, the whole nine yards. At the time, I didn’t seem very _worthy of redemption._ But you know what? They gave me a second chance, and I took it ‘coz what else would I do? And after that, I made different choices n helped people. That’s what makes you worthy. It ain’t nothing but whether or not you decide to change afterwards.” He took a long drag from his cigar and glanced at Hanzo. “You feel bad. You honor him. Don’t that there’s room for improvement? All you need to do is make the decision. That’s what Genji was talkin’ bout.”

He stopped there, worried that any more would scare Hanzo off. But the words were there: _I don’t think you’re a horrible person. I think you’re worth something. Please, let me help you._

Hanzo was silent for a long, heavy moment. Finally, though, he sat back down. “And how would I do such a thing?”

Mccree shifted so that their shoulders leaned against one another. “I guess I could scrap together an idea or two." 

Although Hanzo flushed furiously, he didn’t pull away or reply derisively. They sat there like that, a cowboy and an assassin, warm despite the harsh December winds.


End file.
